


The prisoner

by writingwithmycat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Bellamione - Freeform, Canon Compliant, Discord: Bellamione Cult, F/F, Grey!Bellatrix, Grey!Hermione, History of Magic, Magical Theory, Morally Grey Hermione Granger, Multiple Pairings, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-War, Psychological Trauma, Rating May Change, Sane Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Slow Burn, Updating tags as we go, but also focusing on other stuff!, morally grey Bellatrix black, works for shippers or non shippers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-20 08:41:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30002271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingwithmycat/pseuds/writingwithmycat
Summary: “I’m tired. I’m so very, very tired. I fought. I fought so many times. Lost so much. So many. And I can’t do it Hermione, I can’t. Not anymore. I don’t want to come back. I’m so tired. I can’t lose anymore. Not again." Her voice cracked, and Hermione could see the glossiness in her eyes. “I just want to be. Not anyone’s sister or daughter or friend. I just want to be. Just let me be.”And Hermione took her in her arms. Pulled her close and cradled as if she were a child. And she held on so very, very tight. And Bellatrix let go.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Comments: 12
Kudos: 45





	1. The prison

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everybody!
> 
> I have been more or less planning this story in my head for years, but now I finally took a go at it. I'm really looking forward to writing for this fandom. 
> 
> This is a Bellatrix & Hermione entered fic, but also contains multiple other themes. 
> 
> Disclaimer number one: There might be some similarities to other fanfics - this is not intentional, but while reading other fanfics over the years I believe I might of accidentally added some details to my own "Fanon", and they might now live on in my characters. 
> 
> Disclaimer number two: This text is for mature readers only. It contains misuse of drugs and alcohol, violence, sexual themes, trauma, mental health problems, character death, and possible mentions of sexual assault. The latter will not be described in any graphic way. Please read at your own discretion. 
> 
> Disclaimer number three: All original characters and the plot line of Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling. I have not made any money on this work. 
> 
> I am not used to writing in English, and therefore the text is not always perfect. Please excuse any mistakes I might make! 
> 
> This chapter was beta-read by the lovely Em!

_At the very edge of an unnamed small town, Yorkshire, England  
Current day_

Light filled the room. Tiny pieces of dust floated in the air, highlighted by the sunlight streaming in through the big windows. Shelves of books covered every wall. Some of the books were half opened, some stuck away in the corner of the shelf. It seemed that the slightest movement might make it all come toppling down. On top of the book stacks were small pieces of parchment. Tiny, yet very neat and elegant handwriting filled every single inch of the papers. Old quills lay on top of the papers, some of them broken in half, as if their user had gotten frustrated in the middle of their musings. Where there weren’t books or writings, there were drawings, maps, and complex equations. Every inch was covered.

Right in front of the large window was a great mahogany desk. You could barely see the tabletop; it was littered with old coffee cups and other lost items, never to be found again. Almost empty ink bottles had fallen over and never been picked up. The ink had dried on the table, leaving intricate patterns everywhere. A thin layer of dust dressed everything, the only exception being an old photo at the very edge of the desk. It featured three young girls.

The girls in the photo were all quite pretty, but in very different ways. The youngest was sitting on a grand, green armchair in the middle of the picture. She could not have been older than five, her feet not even reaching the floor. The girl had long blond hair, and a few of the thin strands were pulled back, showing off her face. The eyes were a striking shade of blue, filled with a mix of curiosity and cautiousness. She wore a soft smile, head tilted a bit to the left. Her hands were neatly folded in her lap, resting on the white lace gown she was wearing. She looked very pristine and adorable, like a doll in a showcase of a children’s toy store.

Sitting on the floor, leaning against the armchair was a brown eyed girl with curly black hair. In stark contrast to her little sister’s calm and collected demeanor, her face was open and kind. She wore a large, honest smile which reached her eyes. Her cheeks were round, and she had dimples on both sides. She wore a similar dress to her sister, but hers was a bit longer, covering her knees. She had small golden earrings, with an intricate pattern not distinct to the viewer.

The third girl was the eldest. Unlike her siblings, she did not look towards the camera, but at the other girls. She stood slightly behind the armchair, one hand resting on its back. She looked nearly identical to the darker of her sisters, but her appearance was opposite to her sister’s warm and welcoming smile. Instead of the white gown the other two wore, she was dressed in a black robe with green and silver detailing.

There was a double glass door leading out of the study and into a hallway. The hallway was a pool of soft light cascading through the skylight, leaving no corner in darkness. Large paintings were scattered throughout the hallway and entryway, all depicting landscapes and eloquent flowers. There were no people.

On the other side of the hallway there were two other doors. The one on the right led to a small, yet cozy sitting room. Like all of the other parts of the house, the sitting room was filled with light. Similar, down-to-earth colored paintings from the hallway continued into this space. On the floor, seated next to the windows, were several large plants. They were well taken care of, glowing and growing in the warm light. In the center there were some green armchairs, arranged around a small coffee table. However, unlike the study, there were no signs of someone using this room. Except for the plants and warm red coals in the fireplace, there was no indication of anyone ever spending time there – or even existing.

The third room was a large bedroom with only one thing in the room - a large canopy bed dressed in light green curtains placed in the middle. The bed was unmade and untidy, and there were a few pillows on the floor, like someone had tossed them off the bed in the middle of a nightmare. Every other corner in the room was untouched. Leading out of the bathroom was a small bedroom equipped with a bath. There was a window open somewhere in the space. A light breeze carried in from the outside.

There was no kitchen in the house; the only thing in the entire building except for those three rooms was an outside door. There was no lock on the door, nor a proper handle. When pushed, however, it opened with ease, and led through to a beautiful garden filled with blooming roses. The garden was filled with tiny, adorable statues of bunnies and butterflies and every other small, cute creature known to mankind. The outside of the house was larger than the building itself – from here you could see the structure in its entirety. It was a small cabin-like building, straight from a postcard.

It was the perfect scene. A bystander would say that it was a fairy godmothers’ cabin, or the summer house of a princess. It felt warm and welcoming and kind and every possible good feeling that one could possibly imagine. But if you stopped and really tried to see, you would notice. All the little things that were wrong. There was a soft change in how the light flowed through the air above the cabin. If you looked closely, you could see a thin sphere surrounding the garden and house. There were never any animals in the garden, not a bird flying overhead or a mouse running through the bushes. If you watched for long enough, you saw that nothing ever changed. The plants never died, the grass never grew, and the roses never stopped blooming. It never rained and the sky never clouded over, there was never a storm. It was always perfect, like a picture frozen in time. And if you followed the stone fence around the garden, you would always find your way back to your starting point. The fence was nothing but a large, solid circle. There was no gate. You couldn’t enter or leave the garden.

On the outside it truly did look like a fairytale. But if you were ready to truly see, you would realize it was not a fairytale at all, but a prison. A spectacular, well provided, grand prison. And like in every prison, there was a prisoner in this one. No one really knew who they were or where they came from. Nobody bothered to ask. The prisoner never entered the garden - nobody had ever even seen the door open. No one had ever tried to visit the house. Sometimes you could see a woman’s figure in the window, completely dressed in white, but that was the only signal of life anyone ever saw in the house. Very soon no one paid any attention to either the woman or the house, and everyone just forgot it even existed in the first place.

_Ministry of Magic, London, England  
Current day_

Kingsley Shacklebolt let out a very long sigh as he leaned over his desk and rested his head on his hands. Opposite to him sat a very anxious Hermione Granger. They shared a moment of silence, interrupted only with the soft sounds of Hermione shifting in her seat as she played with the hem of her robe anxiously. The Minister opened his mouth to speak and then seemed to reconsider as if he was at a loss of words. Finally, he vocalised his thoughts.

“Why would you want to do this, Hermione? And please do not refer to the lengthy report you have written. I would like an honest answer from you. As a friend, not a superior. Why are you personally interested in this?”

“Quite frankly? I don’t know. I really don’t know.” She played with her hem in an aggressive manner. Kingsley offered her an eyebrow raise, to which Hermione gave a small huff. “I’m serious, I cannot give you a reasonable explanation as to why I would want to do this. Obviously, there are a number of benefits that could come with this plan – should it work – but I have zero idea, so to speak, why I would want to put myself through this.”

“Have you discussed this with Healer Adams?”

“No, if you really must know, not that it is any of your business. No offence.”

“None taken. Listen, I must admit that it would be greatly beneficial if you could pull this off. But I’m more concerned about you personally, Hermione.”

“I’d ask why, but I’m pretty sure I could guess most of the answers.” Kingsley let out a dry chuckle. “I’m not kidding, Hermione. You would willingly be putting yourself in the same space with someone that quite literally tortured you.”

“I’m aware. Believe me, very aware.”

Kingsley didn’t answer her immediately, instead, leaning back in his chair and pondering for a moment.

“I’m sorry, Hermione. I can’t let you do this, not as a supervisor or a friend. It would not be right of me. It’s what the Muggles call a suicide mission, I believe.”

“Fair enough. I expected this, anyway, given that it is most likely the right and responsible choice. Figured I’d still try it.”

Kingsley gave her a warm smile. “It really isn’t the most horrible idea, it might even work under different circumstances, but give who we are working with? No.”

Hermione thanked him and bid him goodbye, stepping into the busy hallways of the eighth floor on the ministry of magic. It had been worth a shot anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, it's going to be a slowburn. sorry in advance :D
> 
> Please leave a comment! Every single one of them gives me great joy.


	2. At the Lady Bird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty mundane, but it explains the background pretty well (for now). I hope to get going int the next one! Extra Bonus if anyone figures out where the name of the cafe is from. (It's not the movie!)
> 
> The lovely Em Beta-read this, once again! :)

_The Lady Bird, London_  
_Current day_

The Lady Bird was nearly empty the morning after Hermione’s conversation with the Minister. The coffee shop was located deep in muggle London, away from prying wizarding eyes. Hermione had found solace in the café, hiding from the never-ending attention and staring she received in the wizarding world. The café had become her own hideaway after the war, a place where no one knew who she was, and no one cared. The space reminded her of a home library; there were books laying around, accompanied by flowerpots with various types of flowers and plants. There was always soft, classical or jazz music playing in the background, giving a soft, cozy feeling, but not distracting Hermione from her work. The place was run by an elderly African American lady who had immigrated to London from New York a few decades ago. Mrs. Taylor and Hermione got along quite well, as the lady had become quite keen on Hermione. She visited the shop almost every day, finishing up papers and making plans for work.

Hermione was not quite sure what her work really was. She didn’t have a specific title or job description. It was a combination of working with the Auror department and the Department of Mysteries, often hopping between projects. After the war the Ministry had gained an interest in learning as much as possible about Voldemort’s followers. Hermione supposed it was to have upper hand knowledge if anything like it ever happened again – knowing and understanding the circles of the upper-class wizarding community truly might be useful. This time, instead of brushing it all under the rug and being happy it was over - like after the first war - the ministry took great incentive in learning as much as possible. A remarkable difference was also the treatment of prisoners taken from Voldemort’s side. Hermione didn’t know much about where the caught death eaters had been placed, but she knew it wasn’t Azkaban. Both Kingsley and the Order had made sure that even Death Eaters were not placed in such horrid, inhumane conditions. Azkaban had just become a large representation of the pre-war world. The only Death Eater Hermione knew of was Lucius Malfoy, who had been placed into strict house arrest. Hermione had disagreed with this decision, as it didn’t feel right that he would suffer so little for his crimes. She had asked about it from Kingsley, and only received a short answer. It was all part of the rehabilitation program.

The rehabilitation program was created after the war, its primary idea being helping old criminals back into society. The main philosophy of it was to treat the Death Eaters and their supporters as humans, as opposed to how Death Eaters wished to treat everyone else. By showing mercy and compassion and helping them navigate back into the “real world”, as Ron had called it, there was a chance that they could possibly understand their wrongdoings and maybe even gain a spot in society one day. Hermione was highly doubtful, but appreciated the effort the Ministry was making this time around. As long as people like Lucius Malfoy were heavily under guard, she really didn’t care what they were doing. She did pity the people that had to look after them, though.

Hermione had no knowledge of any of the other Death Eaters. In fact, none of the public did. The only thing they had been told was that it was safe now, and that no one needed worry anymore. Security, however, was tightened everywhere, and there were a lot of Aurors on duty, both in Diagon Alley and The Ministry. Some had even been placed at Hogwarts, against Headmistress McGonagall’s wishes.

This also meant Hermione didn’t know where Bellatrix was. The last she remembered of the Dark Witch was a drenching feeling in her gut as she watched the Aurors drag a screaming Bellatrix in chains from the ruins of Hogwarts after the final battle. The witch had completely lost it after watching Voldemort die in front of her, and it had taken five wizards to get her under control.

Hermione tried not to think of Bellatrix too much, but she couldn’t help but wonder sometimes what had happened to Bellatrix, and where she was. It was easier these days, as Bellatrix seemed more and more like a nightmare from the past with each passing year. But after the war, it had not been so simple at all. She was on constant alert, continuously feeling like she was being watched, someone lurking around every corner to attack her. Bellatrix seeped into her dreams and she kept reliving that horrifying night at Malfoy Manor. The setting was often different, and the ending changed -sometimes she got away, sometimes she didn’t – but the same screaming in her ears stayed, and the burning of the flesh was always the same. She couldn’t sleep, always afraid of reliving the events again. For several months after the war, she was just a ghost walking around, jumping at the slightest sound. She buried herself in work, reconstructing the castle and helping families with their losses. It didn’t work very well, but at least it kept her busy, not letting her dwell in her thoughts.

But as the Ministry slowly got back on its feet, new things started happening. Kingsley did not only focus on the Death Eaters, but he was also concerned with the other survivors. After all, the war had been hard on them all. Hence, the program extended to Harry and the rest of the Order as well. Kingsley was especially worried about the children that had had to fight in the war, concerned about the lasting effects it might have given to them. He had assembled a team of Healers from Saint Mungo's to focus especially on the mental damages the war had brought. Hermione had found it quite amusing, how lost the healers had been with this task. The Wizarding world was very advanced in many things, but psychology or therapy of any kind was a completely unheard topic. It had taken Andromeda Tonks contacting a friend of hers from the muggle world - a psychologist - to help the healers out. In the end it had actually worked out – there were several organized groups at both Hogwarts and the Ministry that got together after the war. The system was similar to group therapy. But to the annoyance of the Golden Trio, they had gotten special treatment – individual sessions with their own healer. All of them had politely declined, but very soon it became evident that this wasn’t a suggestion but a condition for working at the Ministry. In the end they all were forced to agree through gritted teeth.

Hermione wasn’t sure why she had detested the idea of seeing Healer Adams so strongly. It was a mix between not wanting to open up to anyone and wanting to prove (mostly to herself) that she was fine and could do quite well without any help. But in the end, she was forced to comply for the sake of her career at the ministry. It had started roughly. Hermione didn’t want anyone going through her head, metaphorically or not. She didn’t want to relive any of the events or even think about them, preferring to just forget them and trying to move on with her life. But in the end the need to talk to someone, to make someone understand, had taken over; Hermione and the boys had remained close after the war, but there remained a cloud of false positivity upon the trio when they were together. None of them were coping well. And so, one night Hermione had ended up in tears and very drunk at Healer Adams’ office door and was let in by Mr. Adams who had been doing late night paperwork.

It took a while, but slowly they built a bond of trust between each other, and Hermione started processing the war. It was a long journey, and Hermione had kept going after the boys had already quit after completing their mandatory quota. In the end, she never stopped, finding it to be a useful way to channel stress from the job. Talking to Healer Adams had helped in many ways – it gave Hermione a safe space to process her feelings and thoughts. Everyone in the wizarding world seemed to have an opinion or feelings about Hermione, but Healer Adams simply listened. It felt calming, and with him Hermione didn’t need to play any role, savior of the wizarding world, dutiful friend or polite student. She could simply be herself without pressure or judgement.

There was one thing Hermione couldn’t figure out despite her sessions with Adams. Bellatrix Lestrange. They had talked about her, of course. Hermione had described the events of that fateful night at Malfoy Manor, going over them in detail with Healer Adams. Hermione was pleased when she wasn’t met with pity but just silent accepting. They had discussed her dreams and wondered why Bellatrix had acted in her maniacal ways. But Hermione couldn’t quite put a finger on what still felt so very off when it came to Bellatrix. Why had Bellatrix picked her out like that? It could’ve been anyone of her friends, but Bellatrix always came after her. And at the same time Hermione wondered why it had affected her so much. She was certain that if it had been anyone else torturing her that night, it would not have been so significant to her. It would just have been one of Voldemort’s followers. But it had felt personal, even more personal than what naturally came with someone cutting into your arm. Why had it meant so much?

She never figured out the answer. She thought about it a lot at first. The only conclusion she came to was that maybe it had not been personal for Bellatrix at all, but just to her. Perhaps she saw something of herself in Bellatrix; the smart, talented witch in a lonely world full of powerful men. Maybe part of her had naively wished to save Bellatrix. In the end, she gave up thinking about it. Giving up went completely against her nature, but at last she was forced to admit to defeat. She worried it would make her crazy, going over and over her thoughts, never finding an answer, constantly wondering about Bellatrix. So, she tried to move on, submitting to the reality of probably never figuring it out. But if an opportunity presented itself, she knew she would take it.

And one day, it did.

There had been talk for a while about researching the Death Eater circles. No one actually knew what had gone down “behind the scenes”. The Death Eaters and their inner workings had not exactly been the kind of drop-by party, where you could just hop into see what was going on. And since all of Voldemort’s followers were either dead or locked up somewhere, there wasn’t really a source for information. So, a small group, including Hermione, started going through what little information they had. It wasn’t much, mainly survivors’ testimonies, or people that had known people that had known Death Eaters. The rest was just assumptions.

Hermione had been hesitant at first. Before this, she had mainly just worked for the Department of Mysteries researching magic and making different hypotheses and testing them out. She had loved her job, and was hesitant to leave it for something else that would revolve around some of the darkest years of her life. But in the end, the need to know was stronger than the fear, and Hermione decided to join the group upon personal request from the Minister. It was not only interest in the Death Eater dynamics, but also the magic. Hermione had spent many years working with magic, both light and dark. But even the Department of Mysteries dared not to touch the likes of magic the Death Eaters had used. Hermione knew that this might be her only chance to learn about spells and curses no one had never even heard of. She profusely ignored the small voice in the back of her mind, whispering that she might also gather information on Bellatrix.

They didn’t really get anywhere. It was mostly “maybe” and “probably” and “this or that”. They were slowly giving up, until one day one of them suggested both insane and obvious: Go find one of the Death Eaters and ask. It had been a joke at first; who was going to walk up to Lucius Malfoys doorstep and ask him if he “kindly wanted to answer some questions about dark magic and Death Eater hierarchy”? But as their options started running out, it slowly became the most realistic option they had. And thus, the idea was born.

There was the obvious question of _who_ they would ask. And which one of _them_ wanted to be the asker. There was not much competition for the leading role. Hermione stayed quiet for most of the time, personally not agreeing with this idea. Most of her time went in to controlling the little voice in her mind. It was getting quite persistent, not leaving her alone, day or night, always there. What if this was her one and only chance to get her answer? And finally, she gave in.

That’s how she had ended up in the Minister’s office that day. Suggesting that she would personally go talk to one of the world’s most dangerous magicians who also happened to be a complete lunatic. And also, her own personal nightmare and torturer. That would be worth mentioning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will have some more action to it - Hermione will share a conversation with Ginny about her feelings about Bellatrix, and figure out if she could make Kingsley change his mind. (spoiler alert: she manages to do it).
> 
> Please leave kudos and comment! They make me very happy!


End file.
